


Why Not To Annoy Óin

by Daughter_of_the_Mountains



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Hitting, Apologetic Óin, Balin Is Unsurprised, Cuddling and Snuggling, Dori Is Appalled, Dwalin Thinks It's Hilarious, Especially Not Your Little Brother, Gen, It Really Was An Accident, Rivendell, Seriously Don't Hit People With Staves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 08:31:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2574914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daughter_of_the_Mountains/pseuds/Daughter_of_the_Mountains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Óin judged he had a bit of free time before his brother came trooping back from the baths. Picking up his staff, Óin put a foot back, slowly swung his staff forward, turned and swung quickly- </p>
<p>"OW!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Not To Annoy Óin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AI07](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AI07/gifts).



"Right, I'm off, lad."

"Where to?"

"The room.  Don't stay too long, lad. You never know when the Elves might come out." 

Glóin nodded and began scrubbing viciously at his hair, seemingly in a hurry to leave now he knew his brother was going. Óin didn't particularly want to leave him, but he was getting cold and the baths smelled sickeningly sweet and he trusted that his brother could easily take an Elf on if he needed to. Óin tied his hair back and pulled on his spare tunic and trousers before walking to the door and slipping his feet back inside his boots.

"Will you be alright going back alone?" Glóin  asked.

"Aye, it'll be fine, little brother.  See you soon."

* * *

 

Having, brushed his hair and dried it before putting it back in its normal style, Óin judged he had a bit of free time before his brother came trooping back from the baths. Picking up his staff, Óin put a foot back, slowly swung his staff forward, turned and swung quickly-

"OW!"

"Oh, gods! Are you alright?"

"Ow, ow, ow!"

Well, that answered that. Óin grabbed him in a tight hug and tried desperately to recall all the other incidents akin to this one that he and Glóin  had experienced in their youths. Amad wasn't there, unfortunately, to shoo him away and assess what the damage was and how, exactly, it had occurred. Scooping back little strands of auburn, he scanned his sibling's brow and nearly teared up when he saw a blossoming purple shape on the left side of his head. 

"I'm so sorry! Why didn't you say you were there?"

"I didn't think you'd be in here, swinging your stick about!"

"It's not a _stick_ , it's a _staff_."

"Whatever it is, it _bloody_ hurt."

"I know, I'm so sorry." Óin kissed his head and yanked him closer, though, unlike his much younger self,  Glóin  didn't start clinging tightly to him. "I didn't even know you were there, nadadith."

"It's those Elven doors. They're too quiet."

Agreeing wholeheartedly that the Elven doors really were too quiet (and poorly crafted, beside), Óin let him go, gently turning his head to see how big the purple bruise was. It was distinctly long and, well, staff-shaped and Óin silently thanked Mahal that he hadn't caught him with the clubbed, metal end of the staff, as opposed to the wooden, metal-shot part. "I am sorry, brother."

Glóin  shook his head. "It wasn't your fault. And it's not like it's the first time."

Óin snorted. "You were a terribly clumsy child. Gimli's lucky he took after his mother more'n you."

"I wasn't clumsy! Wasn't my fault you were blind as well as deaf."

"It didn't go 'til I was 57, you cheeky sod. I'm starting to be glad I caught you."

Glóin  grinned at him. "No, you're not."

Óin shook his head. "No, I'm not. How's it feeling now, starling?"

"Throbs a bit. It's alright, though."

"Hmm." Óin carefully touched around the mark. "Nothing seems out of place."

"'Course it isn't. I'm not weak-boned."

"I never said you were, but I didn't half give you a wallop. Are you sure it doesn't hurt?"

"I'll live."

"See that you do. I don't fancy taking on another 62-year-old beardling."

"I'll try my best."

Óin smiled at him. "So I should hope."

* * *

 

"What the bleedin' 'ell 'appened to your bonce?"

"Nori!" Dori chided.

"What a _shiner_! I'd take Bofur's 'at off 'is 'ead to 'oever did that!"

"Please don't." Óin said. "I don't want anymore injuries."

"Was it you?" Dori asked.

"I didn't mean to-"

Nori started cackling with laughter. "What did y'do, Glóin? Nick 'is satchel? Say 'is medical skills could be outshined by a six-year-old Elfling?"

"It was an accident!"  Glóin  declared. "Besides, I'd never dare to do those things. I'd never see the light of day again!"

"I was practising, he came in from the baths, I didn't see him and you can guess the rest." Óin revealed.

"Oh,  _Óin!"_

"I didn't hit him on purpose, you know I'd never do that. Not with the staff, anyway."

The fascination with the 'injury' didn't end there. All, except Balin, seemed intrigued with it, wondering what beastly warrior could have done such a thing, only to just fall apart laughing with amazement when they learned it was Óin who'd given it to him. All except Balin.

"This doesn't surprise me," the white-haired dwarf said, shaking his head, next to their amazed hobbit. "It really doesn't. You seem to enjoy hurting him-"

"How could you say such a thing?" Óin  snapped. 

"Because it always happens. You broke his finger during a pillow fight once."

Dwalin burst out laughing again. "I remember!"

"'Ow," Nori wanted to know, "'d'you manage to break anything, 'cept your mother's vases durin' a pillow fight?"

"He knocked me off the bed." Glóin  muttered. "I put my hand out and there was an almighty crack."

There was a small silence as everyone gave an involuntary wince. Dwalin looked vaguely thoughtful.

"You know, you might have done him a favour, knocking him on his head."

"Indeed?"

"Oh, aye. Maybe you'll have knocked some sense into him!"

"Mock all you want!" Glóin  called over the ensuing laughter. "If it had been you, there would have been a dent left over."

Óin  nearly fell off his chair laughing. Dwalin tried to scowl at them, but his lip twitched and soon enough, he was chuckling away. "You know, though," he said, turning serious, "it could have ended gravely. A knock to the head has killed better warriors than you."

Óin  sobered up, nodding solemnly. 

Dwalin gazed around them. "Indeed," he rumbled. "Luckily for Glóin, he was born with a hard head." And then started roaring with laughter again.  "By Mahal! I bet Gróin is looking down at us and thinking-"

"I'm going to kill that bald nephew of mine." Óin offered.

"Ye- _no_. No, he's thinking: _'If Glóin ever goes into battle, he'll not need a helmet.'_

Glóin hmphed. "I wouldn't have the choice! Óin  would jam it on my head whether I'd want it or not."

Óin  shook his head. "I don't believe we'll go through any battles. Fights and ambushes, yes, but I don't believe for a minute we'll enter a war. But if we do," he cast a steely gaze over to his sibling. "I can guarantee you'll be wearing a helmet."

**Author's Note:**

> *sits down to wait for Battle of Five Armies*


End file.
